


Roughhousing

by ClockStrikesThree



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen, Minor Injuries, Roughhousing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:20:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25958149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockStrikesThree/pseuds/ClockStrikesThree
Summary: Webby has always been able to throw people much bigger than her around like ragdolls. It never occurred to any of them how dangerous that could be when used against the wrong person.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 79





	Roughhousing

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about how Webby regularly beats the crap out of people five times her size, when this happened. I'm still not fully satisfied with how it turned out, but I was tired of looking at it, so enjoy!

It started with an argument over a television show. 

Lines were drawn, sides were chosen, and it all ended with Webby and the triplets in a full blown fight on the floor of the living room.

“Take that!” Dewey said, hitting her with a couch cushion. Laughing, Webby snatched the cushion and hit him back. She whipped around smacked Louie with it. He shrieked, raising his arm to protect himself from her onslaught. Wriggling out of the grip Huey had on his middle, Louie shoved his older brother into Webby to escape them both. Webby and Huey grinned at each other and immediately started trying to shove the other to the ground. With Dewey or Louie it would be a piece of cake for Webby, but years of Woodchucking had built Huey with sterner stuff. They grappled, until Dewey cannoned into them from the side, sending them sprawling to the floor. Huey immediately tried to roll on top, but Webby was ready for him.

“Oof!” Huey wheezed as she kicked out, using both feet to send him flying into the couch. Webby rolled to her feet. Louie was circling, but Dewey, ever the hothead, was running at her.

Sidestepping his initial rush, she grabbed Dewey’s arm and, without thinking, swung hard, using his weight to bowl Louie over. She swung him back around, but abruptly let go when Dewey yelped, high pitched and pained. Dewey hit the floor, but instead of popping back up, raring to go like she expected, he stayed there, curled on the carpet. After a tense second, Dewey rolled to his knees, still hunched over. “Ow ow ow  _ ooowww--- _ ” He whimpered, high and watery.

Webby refused to be swayed. It wasn’t the first time one of the triplets pulled this trick, pretending to be incapacitated so he could sneak up when she was preoccupied with his brothers. Well this time Webby wasn’t going to fall for it, no matter how good Dewey’s acting was. 

She stepped forward, reaching to grab Dewey again--

\--when Huey was suddenly  _ there,  _ in her face. “Back up!” He snarled, furiously shoving her. Webby, startled by the anger twisting his face, actually stumbled back a pace when he pushed her.

Huey turned and crouched beside Dewey, who still hadn’t gotten up. He started to cry, hitching sobs that tore at her insides. Every ounce of playfulness had been sucked out of the room. Webby stood with baited breath, not understanding what she was waiting for. What happened? Huey’s hands fluttered over Dewey, brushing past his teary face. They stopped, hovering over Dewey’s shoulders, and Webby finally saw what had Dewey crying and Huey so, so angry.

Dewey’s shoulder was twisted, distended in a way that couldn’t possibly be normal. His arm lay limply at his side, unmoving even as he clutched at with his other hand. Despite all the gory things she’d seen in books and on their adventures, she felt sick at the sight. 

Webby had dislocated Dewey’s arm.

“Louie.” Huey snapped. “Go get Uncle Donald.” Louie looked as frozen as Webby felt, but at Huey’s words he jerked to attention, and scurried for the door. 

Huey hushed Dewey, a quiet litany of reassurances falling from his beak as he carefully felt around the injured shoulder. Dewey whimpered again, head falling forward so he could bury his face into his brother’s chest. Huey stopped immediately, and wrapped his own arm around Dewey’s uninjured side. 

“Can you fix it?” Webby asked, ready to volunteer her services. Granny had shown her how to reset a dislocated shoulder once. Webby quailed when Huey’s eyes snapped to hers, blazing with protective anger. 

“How could you do that?” Huey growled at her. “We were just playing, there was no need to be so rough!”

“I-- I’m sorry!” Webby stammered, taken aback. Quiet horror began to sink in, and she felt tears well in her eyes. He was  _ right _ . She had been too rough, slinging Dewey around like he was one of her dolls. It had been so  _ easy,  _ too. Webby swallowed hard. This wasn’t the first time she’d hurt one of them, either. The boys walked away with bruises in almost all of their games, most of them inflicted by her. She’d even given Louie a bloody nose once.

Before either of them could say anything else, the adults burst into the room, Louie hot on their heels.

Donald immediately went to Dewey and Huey. Granny joined them, the tv room’s first aid kit appearing in her hands as if by magic. They held a hushed conversation with Huey, then got to work, quickly and efficiently. Granny cut open Dewey’s shirt with scissors from the kit, and Donald looked over the injury himself. 

“I’ll need to put it back in the socket.” Donald said, while Granny applied an anaesthetic. “And then all it needs is rest, ice, and time.”

“We have plenty of ice packs in the freezer.” Granny said. 

“Louie.” Donald said, and didn’t need to finish. Louie hurried out of the room, into the kitchen. Webby understood why Donald sent Louie; he hated feeling useless when his family was in trouble, and he was sensitive to pain. He probably wouldn’t be able to handle watching them pop Dewey’s arm back into place.

Webby watched, half sick with trepidation. Huey and Scrooge watched as well, Scrooge from a distance, Huey right up next to Dewey, holding his brother’s hand and letting him squeeze through the pain.

A quiet click, a groan of pain, and it was done.

“There, that’s better. Right buddy?” Donald asked, pressing a reassuring kiss to Dewey’s forehead. Dewey nodded stiffly. “Now we just need to put it in a sling and keep it still for a few weeks.”

“I should have one of your old slings around here somewhere, Donald.” Scrooge said.

Donald looked ready to spit fire. Even if Webby could understand the sudden onslaught of furious quacking, she doubted it would bear repeating. 

“We have enough bandages and medical experience between us to whip up a perfectly serviceable sling until Scrooge can buy a proper one.” Granny interrupted, leveling an unimpressed stare at Scrooge. At his indignant sputtering, she tacked on “After all, the arm would practically be healed by the time we sorted through all of your junk to find a twenty year old sling.”

The jab at Scrooge’s hoarding tendencies seemed to relax something in Donald. He and Granny quickly wrapped up Dewey’s arm, pinning it to his chest in a makeshift sling. While they were doing that, Louie reappeared, his arms full of ice packs. He looked relieved to see the clean cloth holding Dewey’s arm to his chest, and that Dewey was no longer sobbing over the pain. Donald carefully picked Dewey up, settling him on his hip and announcing that he would be taking his nephew upstairs to rest. 

Huey and Louie trailed Donald out of the room. Scrooge hesitated for a moment, then followed them. Webby and her grandmother were left alone.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Webby burst into tears.

“Whatever is the matter, Webbigail?” Granny asked, concern coloring her voice. She picked Webby up, holding her close and pulling out a handkerchief to wipe at the tears.

“It’s my fault Dewey got hurt.” Webby cried. She explained what happened as clearly as she could, wiping away snot and tears as she talked. When she finished, Granny sighed and settled them both in the recliner.

“It was an accident, dear, pure and simple. It is no one’s fault.” Granny said. “Except, perhaps, my own.” Webby looked up, confused and ready to refute such an obvious falsehood. Granny pressed a finger to her beak, silencing her protest. Webby settled into her grandmother’s lap, understanding that she wanted her to sit and listen for a bit.

“I have been training you since you were old enough to talk.” Granny started. “I lived a very dangerous life, and amassed a number of enemies over the years. Scrooge also had his own gallery of rogues and illwishers, as you well know. After what happened with your parents, I couldn’t bear the thought of you being unprepared should either of our pasts come knocking.” She smoothed Webby’s hair, her calloused fingers brushing her cheeks. “So I trained you to the best of my ability, and taught you every skill a young girl would need to survive in the outside world.”

Webby could remember. Her earliest memories were of the sticky training mats beneath her feet, learning to tumble, climb, take a hit. She ingrained the various katas and stances into her muscles under her grandmother’s stern, watchful eyes. Those same eyes would light with pride, scrunching with quiet pleasure when Webby managed to hit the targets or reduce a training dummy to dust. 

“You were so strong, so fast, so quick to learn. You were always a bright and talented girl.” Despite everything that has happened, Webby cannot help but feel a rush of pride. Her grandmother was kind and had always shown Webby that she was loved, but her compliments were rare, hard earned. “But you were small,” Granny continued, “so young and absolutely tiny.” 

“I took that into account. I taught you to fight adults. You know how to take down opponents over twice your size, with ten times your strength.” She said, fixing Webby with a serious look. “The one thing I never taught you, however, was how to hold back.”

_ There was never a need to,  _ Webby didn’t need to hear her grandmother say.  _ Not until now, with three kids her own size around the house. _

“I wanted you to use your all, but I realize that as you get older, that cannot always be the case.” Granny said. Her voice shifted, from storytelling to thinking out loud without realizing it. “Not just when playing with the boys; you will need to know how to use your strength with future sparring partners, untrained adversaries…”

“Granny?” Webby asked, pulling her grandmother back to the present. “Can you teach me how?”

Granny smiled, soft and fond and proud. She hugged Webby tight, wrapping her in powerful, gentle arms.

“Of course I can, dear.”

They stayed like that for several minutes, until Granny had to leave to start dinner. Webby debated where to go. She doubted the boys would want to see her right now, and she didn’t want to stay downstairs anymore. Her room it was, then. She started walking, but stopped abruptly.

Huey was waiting by the door.

Webby tried not to cringe, remembering his anger. It was gone now, replaced by a neutral expression. Only the tightness around his eyes and mouth gave away the tension simmering beneath the surface. Webby wondered what he was thinking. Was he still mad she hurt his brother? She wished she could tell from his face; even though he was the worst liar of the three, Huey was always the hardest to read.

“Webby.” He said. His fingers twisted in front of him, and he couldn’t quite look her in the eye. That was okay though. She could barely look at him. “I want to apologize.” 

“For what?” Webby asked, startled. 

“I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier. It was an accident.”

“You were right though. I am too rough, I’m not careful at all--” The calm her conversation with Granny had given her started to evaporate. Would the boys still want to play with her, be her friends, after this? They said they liked Webby’s normal, but if her normal kept getting them hurt--

“That’s not true!” Huey interrupted. Webby blinked at him. “I mean yes, you are really strong and get a little rough when we’re just messing around. But you are careful. Earlier, you sent me flying. You could have kicked me into a wall or a table or something, but I landed on the couch. It wasn’t even in your line of trajectory -- I checked -- so you must’ve been aiming for it.” Really? Webby couldn’t remember that. Huey cut himself off, rubbing the back of his head ruefully. “So, I’m sorry. I was mean and accusing and you didn’t deserve that.”

Webby gawked at him, something hopeful and happy swelling in her chest. “Apology accepted.” She said. “Though it wasn’t needed in the first place.” They stood there smiling at each other for a minute. Before it could become awkward, Huey asked, “You want to come to our room? Dewey’s been asking for you.”

“Really? He has?”

“Yeah. He wants you to know he’s not mad at all. And I think he wants you to distract Uncle Donald. He’s been driving Dewey crazy with all his hovering.”

Webby laughed, and together they set off for the boys’ room. A weight she hadn’t even noticed lifted from her shoulders. Dewey wanted to see her. None of her friends were upset. 

Everything was going to be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> I read several articles and watched a video of doctors putting an arm back in place, just to make sure my vague description was correct. Donald and Beakley both have medical training as a former adventurer and spy, so they dealt with it here, but dislocated shoulders are much more complex and painful than many fanfictions and movies depict. If you ever dislocate your shoulder, do not try to set it on your own -- go seek professional medical help.


End file.
